The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1887-04-14
THE PRIIA DONNA.

LIE L III MA DON y y.
The first time I saw them they were
both in the window
Clarissima was leaning her arms
upon the sill and gazing upward at a
flock Of sparrows quarreliLg and chat
tering on the opposite house-tops.
She looked like one of Raphaels
cherubs, with her thatch of hair and
Italian eyes. & finger on her lip. Her
dress, which was white and flowing,
with a scarlet band about it, was
clasped III the throat with a cleaning
curio. There were tiny ornaments in
her ears which twinkled and danced
as she turned her head.
Antonio stood behind her with eyes
turned above and beyond the spar
rows. His expression, as | made it
out, was that of a man who had for
ever settled the most vital question of
his life, and henceforth deals in no
secondary ones. a pale face, cut
clear as cameo, with proud, acqui-
escent mouth.
| was long in making their acquaint-
apart, although Clarissima had nod
ded to me in friendly manner more
than once.
One afternoon when she appeared at
her favorite haunt in the window and
| had seen Antonio, whom | somewhat
feared, 90 down the street with his
sketch-book under his arm, ! seized a
pot of primroseo from my balcony, as
Precipitation, and ran across.
She had seen me coming and adj
mitted me herself with a half-shy,
half-happy courtesy, beautiful fan of
scarlet plumes in her hand.
The room which ! entered was one
of three in direct communication, but
separated by hangings Of antique silk
pushed far along the rods. To utter a
cry Of admiration was inevitable-all
was so beautiful, so full of individual
life. had known that Antonio was
an artist, and a successful one, but
the work that surrounded me exceeded
my widest surmises.
The face Of an angel confronted
me, hang against a velvet panel of
some oriental blue. Never heaven
knows. could such countenance
have found its home on earth. A copy
Of Dante and few yiolets lay on the
couch beneath it, from the rumpled
cushions of which Antonio had lately
risen.
Between the windows hung a paint
inc in oils Il seemed to me, at first,
merely rospate sky rufliing in little
waves of pink toward the west. But
suddenly [ discovered a river rushing
through desert country, and the
river took the color of the sky. There
was not a tree, nor shrub, nor living
creature in the scene-only that mar
velOus glow in wave and cloud. On
either side of it were water-colors
of pink flowers, one azaleas, the other
a foreign plant unknown to me. [
became suddenly aware indeed that
this same pale flush pervaded all the
room, changing in effect, for it was
not a monotone.
On table at my hand lay half
finished sketch of pansies, soft, per-
feet things, with a purple dust upon
them. Involuntarily ! turned from
them to the angelic face upon the
wall, and Carissima said, simply,
Those are the Lady Roses eyes.
When Antonio has finished them he
will hang them there beside the ar
butus in the corner, which is her
smile. She was fond of pink-it was
her favorite colOr-and Antonio has
mastered all the shades. My brother
loved in vain she continued, dra-
matically, pressing her palms to-
gether, while the plumy fan slipped to
the floor and lay at her feet. '.She is
there. pointing to the angelic face,
land there, and there, in all the
flowers That rosy sky-it is the
Lady Rose; and the river, that is An
tonio's life, tinged with the color of
the sky. 1t is a pity that he cannot
better do her hair. 'Carissima,' he
sometimes says, look! the streak of
light that sometimes comes through
the shutter yonder, Pick it up-bring
it TO me if thou canst.' And by that
he means that it Is as hard to gather
the sunlight up into the two hands
as it is to mix the colors for her hair.
You have been in Rome? You have
been in the galleries? All, but there
is nothing there like the Lady Roses
hair
Clarissima paused for a moment,
looked ut me questioningly, and then
went on:
..She was a great singer, but it was
a humiliation 10 see Antonio follow in
her footsteps, from Italy to France,
from s.. Petersburg to the Nile, like
patient slave. and Antonio Of so noble
a family. He suffered the anguish of
purgatory for her. And she-ah,
some women are inquisitors! Some
times she sang for weeks in the same
city, and then he was in paradise. He
sent her flowers. such lovely flowers!
Not great bouquets, or Vulgar baskets.
but some rare blossoms such as de-
voted love alone could procure. And
while she still sang on, smiling upon
him like a snyirit from the heavenly